


Seasons of Not Realizing You're in Love, Actually

by Kahvi



Category: Hot Fuzz (2007)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 14:52:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13125981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kahvi/pseuds/Kahvi
Summary: Nicholas slowly comes to a realization. It only takes him slightly less than a year.





	Seasons of Not Realizing You're in Love, Actually

**Author's Note:**

> A Secret Santa gift for karlimeaghan - happy holidays!

“Mrs. Halvorsen next door thinks we’re gay.”

Nicholas didn’t choke on the sip of coffee he’d just taken; he’d been around Danny too long to be surprised at anything he said. “Mrs. Halvorsen; she’s the one with the bad hip?”

“Not anymore; she’s had an operation.”

“That’s nice for her.” Nicholas fiddled with his whole grain toast. One thing Danny was really good at, was getting toast just right. “Why would she…”

“What?” Danny was obliviously slathering marmelade, whistling something under his breath. Nicholas never knew any of the songs he tried to get him to listen to. 

Nicholas smiled. “Never mind.” 

 

There had been no point at which it had been firmly established, or even alluded to that Danny was now permanently living in Nicholas’s spare room. Calling it that might be a bit of a stretch; Nicholas assumed it had originally been a pantry or a broom closet, with just enough room for a narrow IKEA bed, a nightstand, and a funny-looking lamp Danny said he’d borrowed from his aunt Louise. The shade was an odd sort of yellowy-beige, and Nicholas sometimes felt like it looked at him askew. It wasn’t that Danny didn’t have a place of his own - the house he’d lived in with his dad was his now, for all intents and purposes, but he never seemed to want to spend much time there. 

Nicholas didn’t blame him.

It was nice having Danny around. He’d recovered at what could only be described as a break-neck speed, very nearly literally, that one time he’d tried to run down the stairs with his brace on and his knee still a bit funny. He never complained. Nicholas supposed that was another reason he liked it here; he’d needed someone else around after the hospital, and though he never talked about it, Nicholas was sure he still had nighmares. He’d taken to pulling the ancient comfy chair that had come with the cottage, and pulling it up close to the pantry door at night, listening for any muffled noises. The moment he heard anything, he’d cough loudly, maybe scrape the floor intentionally as he moved the chair back to its usual place, then go back to check. The noises were always gone, then. 

 

Danny liked gardening. Like the toast, that shouldn’t be so unexpected, but Nicholas was still fascinated to watch him potter around what he supposed was ‘their’ tiny lot, pruning bushes and weeding beds. It wouldn’t win any awards, but it was clean and simple, and a little rough. When the weather grew warmer, Nicholas took to taking his morning coffee out there, nodding to Mrs. Halvorsen over the fence and trying not to think of anything in particular. 

Nicholas had, however, vetoed the hutch. 

“It’s not that I don’t like them,” he’d explained to a crestfallen Danny, “but it just wouldn’t do.” He’d dated a small animal vet at uni, briefly, and he’d seen what could happen to bunnies who lived outdoors. Granted, this was the country and all, but he didn’t want to be the one consoling Danny when their pet died of trench foot after three months. Nor would he want to put the bunny through that, obviously. 

Come Easter, he considered reconsidering, but a string of unexplained sheep killings kept them rather busy, and Danny never brought it up again. 

 

Summer was exceptionally hot. Nicholas used to struggle in London, though he’d never thought to consider that his office, where he’d spent more than 70 percent of his time anyway, had been air conditioned. Here, the best they could do was strip down and keep the windows open, and at the station they couldn’t even do that. Nicholas went through two shirts per shift, and even that was stretching it. He was nearing the breaking point for shirt number two, when Doris banged on his door. As usual, she didn’t wait for him to answer before stepping in. 

“I made lemonade; it’s out in the kitchenette, but I thought I’d bring some ‘round to you. Not like you ever leave your office.”

Accepting food from Doris was usually a bit of a gamble, but how could you possibly go wrong with lemonade? It was just sugar and water. Nicholas took the glass, nearly groaning when he noticed the ice cubes. “Thanks, Doris. Just the ticket.” 

Doris smiled. “I’ll get some for you and Danny to take home, if you like.” 

Nicholas took a sip, nodding before the taste hit. It was somehow both too watery and too sweet; Danny would love it. “We’d like that.”

As she left, he caught himself tasting the word right along with the drink. We. 

 

“You can sleep in my bed if you like.” Having said it, Nicholas was still not quite sure how or why he had. Danny was drying his hair in the bathroom doorway, and stopped to stare up at him. 

“You mean,” he said slowly, “you’ll sleep in the pantry?”

“I think it’s a broom closet.” 

“Yeah, no, but I mean; do you not want me to stay in the closet anymore.” 

They both looked down at their feet. Danny’s were leaving little puddles on the floor. “How’s Mrs. Halvorsen doing these days?”

“Fine. It’s her eightieth next month; her daughter’s taking her to Vegas.” 

“We should send her a card,” Nicholas said, stepping closer. 

 

As it turned out, there were things other than toast and gardening that Danny was really very good at. If he had to pick, Nicholas would have to say the way he moved his hands was his favorite. They were quite large hands, but so gentle, like firm and gentle perfectly balanced, and his body was a solid rock on which to lean. Nothing could possibly happen to you when Danny held you in his arms. 

He wasn’t too bad of a kisser either, but the rest of it would take some getting used to, for the both of them. Nicholas never asked, but he imagined Danny would have said if he’d ever done this before, because he’d done something even as simple as mowing the lawn, it was impossible to stop Danny talking about it. 

Still. Their bodies fit, like they had been moulded together, and Nicholas’s face fell into the crook of Danny’s neck when they fell asleep, most nights. 

And then they woke up, and went to work, and really didn’t change much of anything. And that was all right. 

Wasn’t it?

 

Danny got their Christmas tree on December 1st, and dared Nicholas to say anything about it. Nicholas replied by setting up the garden Christmas lights the very next day. They wore the matching jumpers Mrs. Halvorsen had made them when they watched Die Hard on Christmas Eve, and Nicholas fell asleep against Danny’s shoulder. But it wasn’t any of those things.

It was the bunny.

Sat under the tree with a ‘crime scene, do not cross’ ribbon ‘round its neck, and Danny’s face like that of a child who’s just realized Father Christmas is real, and he’s not going to stab anyone. “Don’t pick him up,” Nicholas warned, and Danny just looked at him like he was some rabbit-based deity. “They… um… don’t like it unless they’re used to it.”

“I love you,” Danny said, and absurdly, ridiculously, that was the moment Nicholas knew. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”


End file.
